Synonyms for Purple
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: Things have been… the exact opposite of normal. Post film. PepperTony


Three milks (low-fat, she'd started sneaking low-fat in about three years ago and he'd made no mention of it) and four sugars is his standard fare. The coffee is direct trade of course, something heady and dark from somewhere in South America that she has never heard of.

And you can only purchase it online.

Personally, Pepper never drinks the swill, much preferring her herbal chai tea to the stomach-singeing beverage that he consumes by the gallon every day.

Today she doesn't pour out three, careful teaspoons full of milk, or measure out four rounded spoonfuls of sugar because she forgets to bring him his 10:45 cup of joe. Truth be told, she'd been forgetting other things lately, and once she remembers that she's forgotten them, Pepper begins to ponder why _he_ hasn't reminded her of them either.

Things have been… the exact opposite of normal.

It's 10:53 and he appears at the entrance to the kitchen; she knows because she _hears_ him. Every move he makes, she hears them all.

"You're wearing purple."

She does not tell him that in rushing to pick up his dry cleaning, that she neglected to pick up her own. What she does tell him is, "This isn't purple."

"It is," he intones, sure of himself as he moves into the room and crosses to the industrial-sized refrigerator.

Pepper doesn't glance up from the paper, she can't or she'll lose her train of thought. She'll lose all thought really. She knows this because she can smell him, smells his dust-and-oil scent from across the room: he's been working again, and hard, and he tends not to remain completely clothed when he does this.

Tony much prefers dingy, tight-fitting wife-beaters (how she detests their name, she doesn't tell him this either) that he sweats through rather easily. And… if she looks at him now… she'll stare. Not because he's a beautiful, built man standing before her, but because he's, well, _him_ and that's just mean… "It's plum."

The refrigerator opens, the vague-suction sound making her jump; he notices. "Isn't that the same thing?"

"It isn't." Stare at the paper, don't look up, do not look up.

The cap is popped off of a bottle (probably one of those sugary, Starbucks confections she refuses to buy for him) and oh, the sound of him gulping down that liquid… "I remember my colors, I listened well in kindergarten. Blue and red make purple, and that shade is purple." There's a sniffle and a pause (he's probably wiping his mouth with the back of his hand; she hates that) before he adds, "Perhaps a darker shade, but purple nonetheless."

"I believe," she turns the page of the paper, "It's orchid, a deep orchid."

Tony takes a few steps towards her, "Are you certain it's not… grape?" His voice is quieter now, deeper, and he speaks like he's waiting for something.

After a breath, Pepper reiterates, "It's orchid."

A few more steps and he's standing directly beside her; she's just his height, perched on the bar stool. "No, I think it's a rich… lavender…"

Done with the game, she thinks. She's done with this game and lifts her head to tell him so, to tell him that it's _just_ a dark orchid when he slides his fingers over her wrist and…  
Her mind goes blank.

It's another few seconds before he's slid them up along her forearm, bypassing her elbow to meander over her bicep and then it's up over the lip of the cuff of her shirt. Tony tests the thickness of the material by sliding his fingers beneath and around it, his gaze never leaving hers. "Orchid, then."

His fingers are winding themselves around her neck but her face is blank when he moves in, takes his time settling his mouth over hers. A breath is released but she can't be sure who was the one to let it go; instead of pondering that, she falls into him (just, just a little).

The sound she then hears then, the strange, low sound, is Tony humming (again, just a little) as he moves his lips across hers, plying them open to sneak inside.

Carefully, her hands come up to slide her fingers over his shoulders, palms pressing against the hot flesh. _This_ is what she was afraid of, and even knowing this, knowing what she's doing (kissing Tony Stark, kiss, kiss, kissing Tony Stark) Pepper can't really help herself. And so when his tongue finds hers, _she_ finds herself pressing back, meeting him with fervor.

And she feels something welling up inside of her, something she really wishes she could hold back because it's _such_ a tell. But she can't and so she does it, she smiles against him, her mouth curling up, just as his follows suit.

This is too intimate and too perfect and Pepper Potts, _Miss_ Pepper Potts almost loses it when he pulls away and lets a kiss drop onto her forehead. Too intimate…

She wonders how to break the tension, but can't think of an easy solution out of this mess that they've both so clearly had a hand in creating. "Mr…. Mr. Stark."

It was supposed to be a question, but slips from her mouth as a sort of weak plea. "Mr. Stark I…"

For the first time, she looks at him; he's sweaty, of course, smiling and looks more relaxed (in his eyes, she can see it in his eyes) than he has in months. "That was unexpected," he begins and is off on one of his bordering-on-nonsensical-diatribes. "Well, it wasn't really, since I was the one to initiate it, but I certainly hadn't expected you to respond in kind. In fact… I'm not sure what I had expected. You're a very unpredictable woman, Miss Potts, has anyone ever told you that?" She blinks at him in response. "I suppose that's a no, well, I'm telling you right now; you're a very unpredictable woman, in, you know, the predictable sort of way."

As though she's been sapped of all energy, her hands slide down off of his shoulders and still over his chest. Pepper can't think of… what to say, and so she doesn't say a thing, just remains quiet, remains touching him.

Just as the nothing-static becomes too much for her to not listen too, he breaks the silence.

"We can address this now, Miss Potts or we can go on continuing like nothing's happening here…" His face is bright, expectant, and he's bouncing on the soles of his feet like he's had too much caffeine.

She looks at her feet, listens to the blatant nothingness that Jarvis artificiates. There are things she wants to say, of course, but she won't. He's given over too much of himself, he knows it but more importantly, she knows it and… she'd give anything to make this all just go away.  
Pepper swallows her pride and the last vestiges of saliva that's in her mouth, "Will that be all, Mr. Stark?" Her voice quiet, her eyes downcast, she waits and can almost feel the mood shift, can almost hear his shoulders fall.

"Yes," he says, just as quietly, "That will be all… Miss Potts."


End file.
